


Beau Gosse

by cemeterydriive, mollykaths



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Breathplay, Casual Sex, Choking, Co-Authored Fic, Co-Written, Crying During Sex, F/M, JD doesn't kill anyone but he's still not mentally well, Mommy Issues, Smut, Veronica and JD meet in their twenties, and they cuddle so its kinda cute i guess, but he does cook for her, it gets really weird, it gets weird, now with art, so expect JD to be kind of creepy, sort of domestic, takes places in the 90s, typical jdonica bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28850814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cemeterydriive/pseuds/cemeterydriive, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollykaths/pseuds/mollykaths
Summary: When she does finally look around, taking a moment away from sulking into her drink, the grey crowd looks a little less grey. Most of these people are assholes that cheated their way through college, but one man catches her eye. Dressed in all black, the stranger is a stark contrast among a sea of people donning popped collars and pastels.And suddenly, she isn’t interested in her drink anymore.party fic au
Relationships: Jason "J. D." Dean/Veronica Sawyer
Comments: 9
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> JD likes dropping hints that he's mentally unstable :)
> 
> This was co-written with chxrryb0mb so if you see parts of the story that are not written as well, hi, that's me.

**Beau Gosse**

Veronica still hasn’t got this whole New Yorker thing down. She’s too awkward, doesn’t fit in. She laughs at her own jokes while the rest of her peers stares at her, blinking. It’s not ideal when she’s pressured to attend another dreadful party, oversaturated with mimosas and loud, obnoxious frat boys.

She's twenty-four and she feels like she’s in high school again. Loud pop music blasts from the speakers and her friends--well, friends might be a generous term, she barely knows half these people — chatting about lip gloss and whatever pop culture craze is in.

It didn’t take long for the faces around her to become distant memories. She drowns them out because she seriously, _really_ , doesn’t care about them or anything they have to offer. She’s tired of faking smiles, watching the pathetic attempts of slime-ball men as they try to get her in their bed. She’s here because she has nothing better to do -- that’s more than she can say for most of the people here. For them, free booze is free booze.

When she does finally look around, taking a moment away from sulking into her drink, the grey crowd looks a little less grey. Most of these people are assholes that cheated their way through college, but one man catches her eye. Dressed in all black, the stranger is a stark contrast among a sea of people donning popped collars and pastels. 

And suddenly, she isn’t interested in her drink anymore.

Veronica moves towards him, like she can’t even think straight, struck completely stupid by the sight of him. The rest of the world becomes this surreal dreamscape that doesn’t matter: she just needs to be closer to him.

“Greetings and salutations,” The stranger says, his voice low and raspy. He flicks his cigarette. 

The crook of her mouth twists into a faint smile. 

_I’m so screwed_ , she thinks after a moment. He’s got messy, dark hair, a pink, plush pair of lips, and cheekbones higher than the Empire State Building.

He smiles, cheeky. He knows he’s cute.

_Trouble. Big trouble._

She shifts her weight between feet, contemplating, and then returns the action, all teeth and gums.

They exchange names and some small talk. Jason Dean or “JD”, whatever, is a sore thumb among the party assholes around her — she even wonders how he had gotten in here. She may feel like the odd one out, but he’s marginally worse than her.

But he leans in real close when he’s rambling about how much he hates the crowd: gives a big, deep, beautiful laugh when she cracks jokes and the sound is enough to make her cry. He smells of cigarettes, cologne and the kind of bad decisions that feel so fucking good.

She makes up some lame excuse to bring him back to her place. _“Let’s go back to my place, you said you liked classic literature, right? I wanna show you my collection.”_ Or, at least she thinks she said that. It’s a messy conjunction by the time it reaches her ears.

By the time she opens the door to her apartment, her heart is hammering wildly against her chest. Palms sweating, she fumbles with the lock. Turns on the lights. Breathes deep.

“I’m more of a Russian lit man myself,” He says, heading over to her bookcase. Like a moth to the flame, Veronica thinks. Stomach flip-flopping, she follows him. 

“Nothing quite like a bleak and soul-crushing tale of human suffering,” JD exclaims, cheerfully. “It really puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?”

Veronica's smile is wry, but not displeased. To anyone else, maybe the hard leer and whites of his teeth would be too intense but for her, it just makes her feel hot all over.

Long, elegant fingers trace the backs of the books. For a moment, she’s uncomfortable, shifting between feet. She has good taste, she knows she does — it’s just a matter of if he does.

He pulls a book from its place on the shelf, glances at her copy of _Wuthering Heights,_ and snorts, “Predictable.”

She shrugs, says, “What? It’s a classic. Sue me.”

He puts the book back, picks up another one but this time when he glances at the cover he says, “You sweet, cultured thing. You deserve a good man who could spoil you.”

“And you can’t?”

“Not on my salary,” JD jokes, smiling, eyes crinkling warmly; sets the book down, gently. This is the first time tonight where she’s seen him like this; unguarded, like a real man and not just a feverish daydream out to soak a pair of panties.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” He adds.

Her cheeks burn.

“That’s fine. That’s not what I want,” She says, like she needs to. She’s sure he can put two and two together.

After a few moments of silence, Veronica clears her throat. Outside, there are sounds of traffic and wailing sirens. Not ideal for romantic gestures. She tries speaking again, clears her throat, ignoring how dry her tongue feels against her teeth.

“I didn’t bring you back to my place to read books,” She admits, though she thinks they’re past that point. She humors him.

When she meets his eyes, she shivers. His eyes — dark, yet keen — bore through her, and she passes her weight between restless feet, wondering what she got herself into. It’s—

He steps forward, towering over her smaller frame. 

—it’s exactly what she wants. It’s a little bit intense with just the right amount of edge that Veronica has been craving. Their height difference feels even more noticeable right now. He looms over her, dressed in black, ominous: a crypt keeper or a devil with the face of an angel. The dim light from the floor lamp doesn’t entirely wash out the moonlight from outside so it hits JD’s face like it was made for him.

A face that’s too young, too old; too pretty for its own good. Soft blue hues wash over his pale, soft and freckled skin. 

“Well,” He says, licking his lips. “Color me surprised.”

When she pins him to the bookcase and kisses him, He makes a pleased, throaty sound, like he’s proud. It’s certainly not the strangest thing that’s gotten her wet but it does just that. Pulling away, she takes a step back.

“What?”

Veronica takes her hands and places them on JD’s chest, takes a moment, considering. Firm; he feels so firm and warm, with these broad shoulders and long legs that will look so perfect stretched out, over her sheets. He’s a little intimidating, just a bit scary and so...

“Beautiful,” Veronica blurts out. “You’re just really beautiful.” And yeah, it’s weird, but she’s right.

She shakes her head in disbelief. No, she’s not. He’s not _beautiful._ “You’re good.” she decides.

He smiles, wry and sardonic, and she gets the feeling that she’s missing something. “Not when you get to know me,” JD replies in a tone that makes her stomach flip. There’s just, there’s a lot that can be said. So many questions that can be asked, the peculiar _I’m sorry_ because she is, for whatever makes him feel that way, but none of it ever makes it past her lips.

She feels lightheaded, dizzy. Then he grabs her by the hips, pulling her close so their bodies are flush together.

She has a short moment to think _shit, I hope my bedroom’s clean_ because she really can’t remember if she even made her bed that morning, but it doesn’t matter. They stumble into her room, all teeth and grabbing hands, a hissed profanity because it’s been a long time since she’s done this.

JD’s kissing isn’t rough, not really. If anything, he lets her take the lead. But there’s this insistence to his movements, a sense of coiled restraint. She breathes in, feels stubble against her cheek. He must’ve shaved earlier; she can smell his shaving cream, clean and cool and spicy. Veronica touches his chest. Fisting her hands in his shirt. Pulls. Gets irritated when he doesn’t meet her with the same sense of urgency. He chuckles teasingly into her mouth. 

Bastard.

Veronica gives him a shove so he falls backward and he catches himself on his elbows. He makes a throaty sound that she can only assume is associated with his amusement. He shucks off that stupid trench coat, the fabric pooling around his arms.

“I figured you were a _good girl_ , Veronica,” JD teases, his smirk unbearable. “Little Miss Harvard Grad. Didn’t think you’d have it in you.”

 _How stupid,_ she thinks, _Good girls are just bad girls that haven’t been caught_ , but flatly says, “I’ve paid my dues.”

She climbs in his lap, tugs at the hem of his shirt until he gets the hint, peeling it off and tossing it across the room. “I can have my fun tonight.”

When she shifts, straddling his thighs, Veronica feels him through his clothes. She grinds against him, just enough to get him to stop smirking. His mouth parts in silent exclamation, breath hitching, his eyelids fluttering. His lashes are thick, full and dark.

“By all means,” He says, guttural. A piece of hair falls into his eyes and he pushes it back, tongue darting between his lips. He quirks an eyebrow at her, impatient, but he remains still. He’s thin but toned, possessing the build of someone who's used to getting physical. There’s strength in his arms. Veronica reaches out to touch the biceps with her fingers, testing their firmness.

She sees his cock twitch, the fabric of his jeans moving ever so slightly. He’s squirming now. 

“ _C’mon_ , doll,” He murmurs, sweetly, voice a gentle drawl. He opens his legs wider.

With one hand pressed to his chest, Veronica presses down so his back hits the mattress. JD makes an indignant “ _mmph_ ,” and within moments, she’s unhooked his belt, tugging his jeans and boxers down to his ankles. It feels good to be fully clothed while he’s naked and fidgeting. Thrill spikes through her.

 _This,_ this is what she wants. This is what those other men can’t give her.

Crawling over him, Veronica trails her fingers down the center of his chest, over his hip. She traces the happy trail on his belly and watches his muscles twitch-- _sensitive_ , that’s cute-- traces his hip bones. 

She draws it out; makes her way down his body, kissing his torso, brushing his length with her nose. When she shapes her mouth around his cock, lips just barely brushing the sensitive flesh, JD mewls and oh, _oh, that’s cute._ Veronica finally wraps her lips around him, swallowing him whole, chancing a glance upwards. He’s flushed, lips parted, red and wet; pupils dilated, chest heaving, hips twitching.

“Fuck,” JD groans. “Jesus. _Fuck_ \-- okay.”

Shaking, JD tangles his hand in her hair. she sucks him hard, until his thighs begin to tremble. A fierce rush of want floods her body so quickly, it nearly knocks the air out of her lungs. The _sounds_ this man makes as he watches his stiff cock disappear past her lips-- these bitten back, helpless moans-- they’re heaven sent. Jason Dean is so clearly hers, Veronica thinks, pulling away to press kisses against the shaft and dip her tongue into his slit.

Before she gets back to work, she says, “Let me know when you’re close.”

JD only nods, limp, boneless, and completely fucked-out, and she thinks _wow._

She can’t exactly say there’s any type of _divinity_ when it comes to this (she can’t remember anybody ever saying that deepthroating is the way to the soul), it sends a rush of want though her, giving her clarity. This man is truly angelic, bathed by moonlight that heightens his features. She touches him as she’s swallowing his cock; she gropes this thigh, then moves up, hand brushing his abdomen. There’s that same restraint she’s seen before: Veronica can feel the muscles in his belly tighten, like he’s trying to make it last and take every effort not to just fuck himself down her throat.

She’d been warned about taking in pretty bad boys and hapless strays. There’s this harshness in his eyes, when he looks at her a little too hard. She can see the struggle in the lines under his eyes. 

“I’m coming _._ ” JD whimpers. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck--_ ”

Holding back a noise by biting his knuckles, he comes down Veronica’s throat. He sounds like a wounded animal, his cries low and guttural. After it’s done, she crawls up his body, wiping her mouth. She isn’t discrete about her pride.

JD laughs, breathless, pulling her close. “Where’d you learn how to do that?”

“College,” She answers, nonchalant, unbuttoning her blouse. Not something she wants to admit, but definitely the truth.

He opens his mouth to speak, to interject, to _whatever_ , but falters as she starts to undress herself. He reached, extending his hold with excited hands.

“Shit,” JD rasps, unhooking her bra. “C’mon, doll. C’mon, baby.” 

She swipes her tongue through his mouth when they kiss. The taste of cigarettes with the taste of sweat, skin, and semen -- god, it’s enough to make her moan and roll her hips in excitement. Jolts of desire rip through her gut.

She has a quick moment to think that _god,_ she’s missed this before he’s groping at her tits, muttering something that she can’t place past being a profanity. That’s what most of his vocabulary has consisted of since they’ve started this.

“Beau gosse,” She says, soft and swift, finished before he can even blink. _Pretty boy_ , she tells him. Pretty, the kind of boy she can see herself with.

She looks at him, sees the picture of tousled hair and sleepless eyes, and thinks of goodnight kisses and park dates and it isn’t at all because he doesn’t just, just _look_ like he should, not in the sense that she sees him. He doesn’t look like the blue-collar that her parents would want her to get hitched with; he looks like a taste of danger, _sorrow_ , and it’s exactly the type of thing she wants.

But now, holding him, breathing him, _learning_ him, she thinks of nothing but illicit thoughts; the kind of sex that’s indulgent, naughty, with fumbling, excited hands, and giggling, hushed tones. At some point, JD pulls away, breaks their kiss, and pulls her close. He wraps his arms around her until she’s lying on his stomach breasts snug against his chest. At first, she startles at the contact. This isn’t what she’d been expecting from a night of casual sex but it feels good to have him close. 

She still wants to feel his mouth on her, sucking her tits but he’s so _warm_. She can’t help but appreciate the feeling of his soft skin on hers. The sensation is one she can easily get accustomed to. JD strokes the bare expanse of her back and buries his nose in the crook where her neck meets her shoulder. Idly, Veronica’s hand finds the patch of hair on his chest and she plays with it. Every part of his body seems to fascinate her. 

Maybe it's too much, maybe she shouldn’t think such things about a man she’s just met but she can feel his heartbeat where she’s got her ear pressed to her chest and it feels like she’s home. She’s weightless when he’s near; light, airy and she likes being up there in the clouds, where her feet don’t touch the ground. She can simply _want_ things, take them and not have to put in the effort and maybe be fed scraps in return-- so unlike every interaction she’s endured in the outside world. Up here, with him, it might not be permanent but it feels so gratifying. 

Eventually, he pulls away, fumbling, searching the contents on her nightstand. It should feel like an invasion of her personal space but for some reason, it doesn’t bother her. The loss of warmth from his arms around her, however, is devastating. 

He grabs a book from the pile of her belongings, thumbs through it, then flips it over so he can read the title on the spine.

Veronica’s small fingers dance down his sweaty chest and there’s a moment of silence. 

“You okay?” She asks. She presses her mouth against his skin, where she’s just had her hands: kisses him softly there.

“Yeah.”

Unconvinced, she tilts her chin so she’s meeting his gaze. There’s a moment where she thinks she might’ve pressed something she shouldn’t have, somehow, without meaning to because JD’s brows are furrowed and his mouth is set in a thin, worried line. Remaining uncharacteristically still, he says, “My mom used to like this book. She’d read it to me all the time when I was a kid.”

“I’m so sorry,” She says and really, she means it. Maybe she shouldn’t; maybe this should be a fake sorry, because she doesn’t know him and he doesn’t know her, but she cares.

Judging by the sorrow in his tone and the heartbreak so clear in his eyes, Veronica can only assume the worst. JD is quiet for a few more beats, like he’s calculating a measured response. She brushes back a piece of his hair that’s fallen out of place.

“It’s okay,” He mumbles.

The way JD cradles her face with both hands makes her feel weak. Rendered helpless by the feeling of those big, callous hands against her skin, Veronica goes pliant when he drags her down for a kiss. This entire night has been an ethereal, otherworldly experience. It’s like Veronica’s lost her grip on reality, her usual priorities and penchant for self-preservation now a distant memory. 

She figures this should be the point where she says get out because admittedly, this is a little much for a boy she doesn’t think she’s ever met before. Just because she doesn’t make a habit of this doesn’t mean she should go unrestrained, and she’s smart enough to know that.

She’s just too stupid to listen.

 _Stupid_ really isn’t the word. Attracted seems to undermine it, stupid is outright cruel, and in love is far, _far_ from what she’s heading for. She’s just...content.

“Do you mind if...” She lets the implication speak for itself. What can she say without being offensively nosey. _Hey, you’re obviously traumatized, but mine telling me when, how, and if your mom kicked the bucket?_ Not the mood she’s going for.

He smiles, gentle and sad, and simply says, “Suicide.”

Veronica blanches. She entertains it as a cockblock for a moment before she thinks _fuck_ and the room seems to darken a little bit. “I’m…”

“Yeah,” He says, and then, “You still horny? Or did talk about my dead mom dry you up? I get it, maternal suicide isn’t really the best dirty talk.”

“Are _you?”_ She switches around the conversation, because she has a pretty distinct memory of swallowing him down not that long ago. 

_Fuck_ , she thinks when he smiles loosely, dopey, all heart-eyes and eyes too warm for somebody that just disclosed their mother’s tragic death to a random girl they’re fucking. 

“Sure,” JD supplies, smiling smugly, his gaze attached to her breasts. “Kind of hard not to be.” 

And for a moment he’s like _them_ — like the assholes she shrugs off her shoulders — and she stirs, irritated. Nevertheless, that heat keeps radiating between them. When she leans in to kiss him this time, it’s not apologetic or even close to being tender. Part of her feels guilty, like she should be offering so much more after what he’s divulged but something tells her he doesn’t wouldn’t want her pity, anyway. Catching on quickly, and thinking this more or less suits him, she bites the inside of his mouth, not _too_ hard, but with enough pressure to startle him. 

Once realization kicks in, JD groans, sounding pleased. He peels her off, holding her still, gripping her arms. There’s a curious look on his face, like he’s cataloging her actions, mapping out the color rising in her face. It’s a feral enough expression that it could be considered a sneer and there’s that firebrand, almost manic fervor in his eyes; the same look that had earned him a place in Veronica’s bed. 

_This can’t be normal._

Veronica could’ve guessed that he’d like it a bit rough but she wasn’t expecting _that_ enthusiastic response. Sure enough, when she snakes her hand around his front, she feels his cock stiffen.

“You can do that,” JD says, wetting his lips, eyes dark. Smiling.

“What?” Veronica questions, blankly, too distracted by the feeling of his dick in her first; hard, dripping, the flesh twitching once she begins to stroke it, slowly.

“Hurt me,” He proposes, and in no way does it sound like a request. She’d be rude to try and deny it.

When he sits upright, back resting against the pillows, she nearly crushes him with her tiny body, kissing him hard. He brings his knee up, slides it between her legs. She digs her fingernails into his shoulder blades and he hisses, sucking air through his teeth. He gets her off like that, with just his knee, giving her something to grind against. He’s doing that on purpose; holding back, not giving her what she wants so Veronica can take it upon herself. 

Flustered, she grabs JD’s wrist, guiding his hand between her legs, where she’s soaked through her panties. Those nimble fingers enter her so, so easily, pushing the fabric aside. The stretch feels a bit odd at first but she’s so wet, she can take it. It’s certainly not enough, Veronica thinks, impatient. Unnerving, how abruptly this affair had taken such a strange turn and the fact that it did little to stifle her needs was definitely a detail Veronica would have to revisit later.

But right now? All Veronica cares about it is ditching her panties so she can ride his fingers properly, watching as he wraps his lips around her nipple, moaning around the sensitive bud. She threads her hand through his hair and yanks, hard, pinching his scalp, tearing his mouth away. JD cries out in pain and just when she thinks she’s pushed too hard, she’s proven wrong, once again. Although his fingers lost their place inside her, having slipped out, JD wraps his free hand around his erection.

With an absurd amount of eagerness that she wishes weren’t so obvious, she turns over, pulls the open drawer from her nightstands and snatches a condom. He watches her display of insistence, smug, struck with a sense of omnipotence. He raises his eyebrow, pokes his tongue between his teeth, then grins. It feels like he’s teasing her; it’s the same bemused, almost patronizing sentiment she felt when she pinned him to the bookcase and kissed him. The sound he had made when their lips met, that satisfied, hitch in his breath, it shouldn’t have made her want more. And yet.

“No,” JD says, plainly when Veronica starts to peel open the condom wrapper.

“What?” Veronica snaps, indignant. She’s going to be pissed if she has to kick him out over this.

He smiles, coy, and breathes, “Watch.”

JD licks his fingers before touching himself, a move that undoubtedly has Veronica’s eyes widening and derailing whatever train of thought she’d had last-- was she going to tell him off? Scold him for making her wait any longer? Because this wasn’t really something she could complain about.

Wanting to build up the anticipation, JD strokes himself nice and slow. He groans as fluid leaks out the tip. His fingers move with intention, purpose.

“Come _on_ ,” Veronica whines, brokenly.

JD’s free hand taps a finger against her foot and he shakes his head. 

“Be patient.”

The punctuated, extravagant motion of JD's fist over his cock makes her bite her lip. She’s never been toyed with like this before. The stare he gives her should be unsettling. Like most of his expressions, this one is concentrated and piercing. It falters soon enough anyhow, when he presses down on a particularly sensitive spot on his dick. Eyelids fluttering, head thrown back, JD moans, succumbing to the pleasure.

Tension in the room breaks almost as soon as it’s settled in when Veronica flings the condom at him, hitting him in the chest. Snapping out of his trance, JD laughs at her neediness.

“Okay, _okay_.”

He grips the head of his cock and slides the condom on, with ease. Veronica plants her hands on his chest and gives him a shove. He catches himself on his forearms, breathless, muttering, “ _Fuck_ ,” when she sinks down.

“That’s it,” He groans, hand cupping the small of her back. He waits for her to get acclimated to the feeling of his cock stretching her open. She isn’t used to being this worked up and wet enough to take someone.

“Let me,” She murmurs, sinking all the way down onto his length, then moving carefully, enjoying the way his breath stutters.

JD reaches to touch her face, or maybe to grope her tits, she’s not sure and doesn’t find out because she catches his wrists, pinning them over his head. 

Veronica kisses him deeply, swallowing the satisfied sounds he makes. Anchoring herself to him, she bounces slightly on his cock, taking every available inch he has to offer. She closes in on his length with every thrust, barely giving him time to process what it does to him. She waits for a sarcastic remark but it never comes. If she’s being honest, Veronica thinks she prefers him this way: desperate, frenzied, whining as he bucks his hips into tight heat.

By now, Veronica has let go of JD’s wrists but he hasn’t stopped letting her ride him or make an effort to roll her over and let go of whatever self-control he’s probably clinging to. During a moment of lucidity, she recalls how he’d ask her to make it hurt. So she does. Fingernails rake down his chest, digging into his nipple. He cries out. 

She bites down on his ear, tugging the earring along with her teeth and he growls, “Fuck. _Fuck_ _me_.”

And for a moment, he falters, eyes wide and doe-like like she’s done something wrong, and she picks through her head in a moment of worry. She hadn’t done anything wrong, had she?

And then, with a tone too raspy for his expression, he says, “Choke me.”

 _Oh,_ she falters. _That_ kind of hurt.

She’s never really done that before, never thought about doing it because it isn’t exactly at the top of the list of most of the socialite men she’s hooked up with, but she isn’t rude enough to deny him that. 

“Are you sure?” Veronica asks. She stops moving. Sure, that’s what she’s been doing so far, hurting him, but choking someone is very different than a bit of scratching and biting.

“Just do it,” JD responds, bluntly, his voice low and deep. “It’s fine. Feel how hard I am. I like it.”

Punctuating the statement with a sharp thrust, JD smiles, baring his teeth. When the sudden force hits her at a particularly sensitive angle, she gasps.

“Come on, sugar,” He insists, taking her smaller hands in his, guiding them to his neck. “No need to be shy.”

He takes her fingertips and positions them so pressing down against his windpipe. 

“Slow, first,” He instructs and she nods.

There’s something very appealing about JD when he’s in this state, all wound up, red all over, losing his grip on basic English and moving closer to monosyllabic replies. This is not a delicate man. Jason Dean is blunt, sarcastic, ostentatious, and there’s no filter between his head and whatever comes out of his mouth but Veronica cradles his slender neck like she thinks he could be delicate. Then, she applies pressure.

They settle into a rhythm that works too well, feels _too_ good and she worries if he’ll last much longer. It’ll be a shame, once it’s over but she'll remember him like this when she’s alone. Angled so she can grind her clit into his pubic bone, pleasure lances through her, making her weightless. There’s that dazed feeling again, clouding her judgment so all she can think about is how hard she can ride his dick until her thighs will start to burn.

“Harder,” JD snaps, abruptly. “Squeeze _harder_.”

His voice is strained, harsh, almost mean. And she isn’t one to do things half-assed, if any of this is an indication of that, so she listens, sinuous fingers tightening around protruding neck bones.

She feels him breathe; feels the shudder of a pulse under her fingers, wondering just when it’ll be enough — just when _she_ can’t take it. She thinks that maybe she’ll be the one to collapse first. He can take more than she thought, he isn’t begging for air, gasping (in the sense that she expected.) He continues to feed into it, a bony hand snapping up to clutch her wrist. 

He twists in her hands, straining, fighting for a change he doesn’t really want. For a moment, he smiles — some choked up, mangled version of a simper — and she wonders _how._ How, why, _what_ , what’s the reason that he’s here — the reason that she has the night with him, and with the rate, they’re going, probably more. 

"Come on, baby, tell me what you need,” She manages, adjusting her hand to move her mouth over the freckles that scatter across his neck. His throat runs warm, pulsating, dipping under her fingers as he struggles to breathe.

And she’s precise with her words — _needs_ , not wants, because she sincerely doesn’t believe walking away from this is any type of option for him.

Whatever answer she’s expected from him doesn’t make it past his lips (he’s not _god,_ she can’t expect him to make anything past a gurgled whimper) but his expression stays persistent, teary-eyed and desperate.

With one trembling hand, he gropes at the place where their bodies are joined. The gesture is clumsy-- she can only assume it’s due to the lack of oxygen reaching his brain. For whatever reason, the shaky, imperfect motions JD makes when he fumbles for her clit is what brings Veronica closer to being shoved over the precipice of pleasure.

Her body feels like it’s on fire. She’s been riding his cock for a while now, her legs and thighs shaking but she’s not going to stop, not any time soon: not until she comes.

“ _Jason_ ,” She exhales. 

He must’ve liked that she called him by his name, his first name because he screws his eyes shut, opens them, and whines, sounding pathetic. There’s a single tear rolling down his cheek. He loses his place a few times while his fingers work her clit, slipping, the rocking of his hips sloppy, crazed, and she’d call it animalistic if he weren’t in such a weakened state.

Veronica jerks forward from the force of her orgasm, panting. She’s sweaty, tired, and more than satisfied when JD chokes out a desperate sound, filling up the condom with his release, sniffing when he finishes. He trembles for a moment longer.

His face in her neck, she feels something wet against her. Tears, she places. Tears, because really, it isn’t the weirdest thing to happen during this whole ordeal. His body shakes lightly, sniffling, eyelashes wet against her and she continues to hold his form, wondering how they went from him roughly taking her apart to him crying, clinging on like his life depends on it.

He’s so strange.

She waits for a moment longer, placing a hand on the back of his head and letting him ride out whatever emotion he’s chasing. He exhales loudly.

“Ronnie,” He utters hoarsely. A statement, and not a question. “Ronnie, baby.”

She reels for a second. _Ronnie_ , not Veronica. That’s the first time he’s called her that. She shifts, blunt nails curling against the back of his scalp.

“Ronnie,” He pulls away slightly, only enough to poise his lips at her jaw, slick and swollen. “Thank you.”

She blinks, staring off to the wall. Thank you for _what_? Sucking him off? “What?” she says, but it’s useless. He doesn’t answer, mouthing at the underside of her jaw, tears still wet on his eyelashes.

It kind of finally settles — sets in that she really doesn’t know shit about this man except that he has mommy issues and cries from sex. It doesn’t bother her as much as it should.

“Are you hungry?” He says after a moment of silence. Her expression scrunches and she glances towards the clock. All the good places are closed now; she can’t think of anything that isn’t fast food and she doesn’t feel like choking on a cold fry tonight.

“It’s all closed,” She rubs at her eyes. God, she’s tired. “Nothing good.”

He stiffens, embarrassed, and for a second she thinks he’s going to cry again. She’s never had a hookup cry over no food before, but again — not the weirdest part of this. 

“I was going to cook,” He utters. She blinks. _Oh, yeah._ It shouldn’t be such a bizarre thought. The more she thinks about it, she’s pretty sure he’s the first guy to offer her that.

“Can I trust whatever you make?” She teases, pulling away to look at his face. 

_Beau gosse,_ she thinks. Pretty boy, even with the tears on his face and the fucked-out look.

“Not really,” He smiles wryly, “I don’t make a habit of cooking for girls. Or myself.”

She refrains from rolling her eyes. She could take one look at him and guess he survives off of ramen packets.

“Just don’t burn my apartment, down, okay?”

When the time to sleep comes, she keeps him in her bed. The man, who is still really a stranger to her, wraps his arms around her waist, a little too tight, and she thinks _fuck._ And then he squeezes her, affectionate, and she thinks that, though tomorrow holds no promises, whatever happens she’ll be okay with it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ART!

[](https://ibb.co/2YjKZgf)

They are 24.........So JD has Facial Hair. I know in the fic it said he has stubble, not a beard. I don't care, lol.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I wanted to justify writing a fic around JD getting blown....it ended up being. Long.


End file.
